


The Spring of Courage

by hero_of_the_wild



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29350947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hero_of_the_wild/pseuds/hero_of_the_wild
Summary: After her brush with death at the hands of the Yiga and subsequent rescue by sir Link, Zelda's guilt over the mistreatment of her knight weighs heavily on her conscience. She apologises to him, but feels like it isn't enough. Will she be able to make it up to him? Is it possible for them to be friends? A journey together to one of the three sacred springs of Hyrule gives Zelda the perfect opportunity to get to know the knight she's snubbed for so long-- that is, if he will open up to her.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 127





	1. An Apology Long Overdue

Every time she closed her eyes, the Yiga assassins plagued her once again.

Rest had been impossible for the past day and night. Even now that Zelda was in Hyrule Castle, safe within its stone walls, her brush with death still terrified her. Her heart still drummed as if she were fleeing; her steps felt heavy, as if they were still sinking into the sand, hindering her escape.

She had nodded off a few times since returning to the castle early that morning, but each time, the cruel blades of the Yiga sliced at her, white masks jeering at her screams. In her nightmares, there was no knight to save her, and she would snap back into consciousness just as the sickle came down and met with her flesh.

But… she was alive. She was _here_ , in her study, pacing back and forth and pretending to organise the bookshelves. Her legs, though shaky, were beneath her. Her body was whole, though weak from exhaustion.

And she owed it all to sir Link.

Shame flooded through her at the thought of him. A dozen moments passed through her mind: when she had begged her father not to appoint him, even after he had deflected the Guardian blast that would surely have killed her; her sneers and derisive jokes with Purah when he would ask questions about their research; the burning anger in her stomach each time she would see him parading around with that sword on his back; the way she’d shouted at him, just three days before, when her experiment at the Ancient Columns had been unsuccessful.

Surely, he must hate her. But nonetheless, he had unflinchingly thrown himself in front of her, taking on three opponents at once. He _saved_ her, when she had done absolutely nothing to earn his loyalty.

There was a knock at the door: startled, Zelda dropped an armful of books onto the ground. She cursed softly, and stepped over them to open it.

“Yes?”

It was one of her handmaidens, a quiet girl by the name of Ro. She kept her eyes demurely focused on the tea tray in her hands. “I thought you might want some tea, your Highness.”

Zelda did not, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn the girl away after she’d gone to all the effort. “Thank you, Ro,” she said, unable to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. She opened the door wider, allowing the handmaiden to enter.

Ro dithered for a moment, unsure of where to place the tray in all the mess. Zelda promptly shifted some papers to the other side of the desk to make room, and watched as Ro poured the tea with an expert hand, passing the cup to Zelda with a little bow.

“Shall I leave the tray, your Highness?”

“That’s alright, thank you.” As Ro reached for the tray, Zelda felt a sudden pang at the thought of being left alone. “Ro… Why don’t you stay for a while? Have tea with me?”

Ro’s tawny eyes became as round as the tea saucers. “Y-your Highness!” she squeaked. “I’m honoured, but… I’m needed in the kitchen.”

“Of course,” said Zelda, feeling foolish. It seemed obvious now that her servants had more duties than simply attending to her. How could she be so self-centered?

“Shall I bring your evening meal here, Princess?”

“No. I mean… no thank you. I’ll come down for supper.” Zelda had no intention of doing so.

Ro curtsied, a blush still colouring her cheeks. “Very well, Your Highness.”

As she turned to leave, Zelda suddenly had another foolish idea. “Ro… could you please send for sir Link? I need to speak with him.”

Ro’s eyes widened again. Zelda was painfully aware of the gossip this request would generate; after all, she had previously had little desire to be in his presence unless it was strictly necessary. And even when it _was_ necessary, she thought with a wry smile, she had still tried to escape him.

Zelda quickly wiped the smile from her face as she saw the way Ro was looking at her. More gossip: was the princess losing her sanity? She dismissed the handmaiden, and sat at her desk, where a rather unwelcome letter laid under a paperweight.

It was from the head priest at the Hyrule Cathedral, where she had gone almost daily for the past decade when she was not away from the castle. She had grown to hate Sahasrahla for his clucking tongue and head-shakes each time she would complete a ritual and remain deaf to the Goddess’s voice, and had endured far too many joint lectures from him and her father. In fact, she was not convinced that Hylia had ever spoken to him as he claimed, and that he was no better than a charlatan.

Perhaps this sort of internal blasphemy was why she was yet unsuccessful at unlocking her power.

Zelda tried to think pure thoughts as she re-read Sahasrahla’s letter. It indicated that he had discovered yet another ritual for her to attempt: a way of purifying herself in three sacred springs rumoured to be scattered across Hyrule. It all seemed like hogwash, but without any royal women alive to guide her, whatever schemes Sahasrahla cooked up were all she had to go on. Honestly, she was willing to try it just for the chance to get away from the priests and disapproving gaze of her father.

_Father…_

Zelda tilted her head to get a glimpse of the sanctum from her window. She knew that the king was likely occupied with other affairs, but the fact that he still had not come to personally ensure her safety wounded her. The word of a messenger that she had escaped an assassination attempt was enough for him, it seemed. The thought of consoling his daughter and expressing relief that she was alive had probably not even crossed his mind.

The loneliness opened up an abyss somewhere deep inside her, and Zelda pressed her knuckles to her eyelids to keep back tears. _I wish Urbosa were here. She, at least, was worried about me…_

There was yet another knock at the door. Zelda gasped, quickly scrubbing at her eyes and glancing into the looking glass on the wall. Her face was a bit blotchy, but the overall exhaustion in her appearance might mask her tears. She took a deep, shuddering breath before opening the door.

She almost mistook him for another servant, or a messenger. His blue tunic that marked sir Link as a Champion had been replaced by a simple wool shirt, and the Master Sword was conspicuously absent. He, too, looked tired, but his expression was as inscrutable as always.

“Sir Link.” Zelda stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

If he thought the situation odd, he did not show it. He simply entered the study, his eyes flickering over the mess. Zelda felt a brief flash of embarrassment, but it was quickly replaced by anxiety. How was she to even begin an apology?

“Would you like to sit down?”

Perhaps she imagined it, but he seemed a little surprised by her question. “I can stand, your Highness,” he said flatly. “But thank you.”

“Very well. I think I shall sit, however.” She collapsed into the chair. Link continued to watch her. His face betrayed no impatience, but Zelda felt the awkwardness of the silence. She cleared her throat.

“The reason I have summoned you here is twofold,” she began. “The day after next, I shall require an escort to the Faron region.”

Sir Link didn’t ask for clarification, but she explained the situation anyways, handing him Sahasrahla’s letter. He never opened it, simply staring at her with those piercing blue eyes that unnerved her so. It was maddening—what was he thinking? Did he think she was a childish fool for giving him the slip and nearly getting herself killed? Did he resent her for all the times she had snapped at him? Was he groaning internally at the thought of having to babysit her for another week?

Or maybe he was simply waiting to hear the second reason she had summoned him. This was the truly difficult part. Zelda’s throat felt dry, and her fingers clenched the hem of her tunic.

“The second reason I have summoned you… is because I owe you an apology.”

Silence. She didn’t dare look up, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the toes of her boots.

“I have treated you monstrously, and there is no excuse for my childish behaviour.” Her hands began to quiver. “I have behaved childishly, and have unfairly unleashed my frustrations onto you when you have done nothing but perform the task assigned to you.”

She had to look up to keep tears from spilling out. Link’s face had changed: his eyebrows had crept up into his bangs with surprise.

“I know mere words cannot make up for what I have said and done, but I… I hope you know they are genuine.” Her voice wavered, and she took a moment to compose herself. “I will not presume to ask for forgiveness. My only wish is to make your burdensome role as my protector less so. You never asked for this assignment, and I have only made it difficult. And for that… I am sorry, sir Link.”

Zelda dropped her head, unable hold back her sob. The loneliness from before, compounded with her guilt, threatened to choke her. The disapproving face of Sahasrahla drifted before her mind’s eye, followed by her father’s. She couldn’t bear to look up and see the same expression on Link’s face.

The dinner bell began to ring out, suddenly reminding Zelda of how long she had kept him. She was about to dismiss him, but then—

“Your Highness…”

She glanced upwards, shocked to see the blankness of his features transformed by concern. It softened his eyes, and brought out a subtle crease in the middle of his eyebrows. He cleared his throat, and his hand drifted up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Being your personal guard… it isn’t a burden.” His voice was soft, and there was no mistaking the honesty behind the words. “Serving the royal family in this way is my honour, as it was to my father.”

 _Your father?_ A familiar figure swam up from the depths of Zelda’s memory: a stocky, compact man with sandy hair that always had accompanied her father. Now that Link had momentarily abandoned the stiff, militaristic mask he always wore, she could see the resemblance.

“I had forgotten that sir Arn was your father.” Zelda glanced out the window, her eyes again gravitating towards the sanctum. “The two of you are very similar.”

Sir Link was quiet for a moment. Had she upset him?

“You don’t owe me any apology, your Highness,” he said humbly. “I am simply here to serve—”

“No,” she said firmly, and held up a hand. “Being the princess does not mean I am exempt from basic courtesy. I owe you an apology _and_ my life, sir Link. That day at the Columns… I was frustrated. You did nothing wrong, and yet I lost my temper.”

“We can all lose our tempers sometimes, Your Highness.”

 _But you never do,_ she thought. Sir Link rarely showed any sort of emotion and hardly spoke, even when Revali, the notorious Rito Champion and braggart, would goad him. This was quite possibly their first real conversation since he had been appointed to her. He seemed so much more approachable without the tunic or the sword, the markings of the hero.

Zelda began to wonder more about that: had he purposefully left the sword behind? Was it because he thought he wouldn’t need it, or was there some other reason? The other Champions proudly wore their blue garments that marked them as such, even when they went about their daily lives. Did Link always change out of his Champion’s tunic when he was not on duty?

The bell began to chime once again, signalling the end of supper and time for the night guard to come on duty. Good grief, was it already so late?

“Past dinner already!” she exclaimed. “I have kept you too long, sir Link.”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” he said politely, although she clearly had.

“Thank you for your time,” said Zelda, inclining her head. “Please meet me at the stables by midmorning, the day after next. And… enjoy your supper.”

He gave her a bow, and she thought she might have glimpsed a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Thank you, Your Highness. I intend to.”

Zelda watched him leave through the tower window. To her surprise, sir Link did not head for the dining hall as she had expected; he took the path towards Castle Town. Did he not live here at the castle? Surely, a knight of his stature would have been given a fine room with all the amenities he desired. Why would he choose to live among the commoners?

How little, Zelda mused, she actually knew about the boy who had accompanied her for nearly half a year. She had spent five months resenting him and never bothering to get to know him—was it possible that she had missed out on having a friend?

If she didn’t know better, Zelda would have thought that sir Link seemed to have a spring in his step, and that he might be whistling a jaunty tune. But it _had_ to be another guard, or a servant that she heard; she could not imagine the stoic knight whistling to himself.

Regardless, as she got herself ready for bed and braced for the nightmares that were to come, she found herself whistling the same tune, feeling as though some of the heaviness in her soul had been lifted.


	2. Aryll

Thanks to a medicine that the castle doctor had prescribed her, Zelda felt considerably more rested after a night of dreamless sleep. She awoke early, eager to be on the road before the commoners began their usual bustle through town. The reasons for this were twofold: first, to give any other assassins the impression that she still remained in the castle; and secondly, to avoid the gawking and whispers that generally accompanied her public appearances.

She carefully arranged her hair into its usual braid around the crown of her head, standing before the looking glass above her desk. On her desk, opened to the last page she had written, was her diary. Zelda blushed a little as she reread the words. It was a list of things that she wished to know about sir Link; she planned to fill in the answers as they came, and later compile a proper entry about him.

Perhaps it was strange to write a diary this way, but Zelda only had experience with the format of field journals. Generate questions, then find the answer and record it—just as Purah and Robbie had taught her. A scientific approach might not be the best way to build a relationship with someone, but it was all she had to go on. She neatly tore the page from the bindings, folding it and stowing it self-consciously in her pack.

Deep oranges and golds had begun to streak the sky as Zelda made her way to the royal stables. The smell of hay and manure mingled with the crisp morning air, making her wrinkle her nose. She definitely preferred to travel on foot, but that would turn a few days’ journey into one of nearly two weeks. She sighed, trudging towards the shed where the saddles were kept. Perhaps if she’d chosen a less difficult horse…

To her surprise, her purple-and-gold trimmed saddle was missing, as was the bridle. _Has someone moved it?_ She scanned the tack hooks, but it was nowhere to be found. Zelda scowled, stomping out of the shed and heading for the paddock. The stablehands _knew_ she was leaving. If they had taken her gear for cleaning today of all days—

Zelda stopped dead in her tracks. There, tied up to the paddock fence, was her white horse Fionn, already tacked up and ready to go. Beside him, a steady rock to Fionn’s constant fidgeting, was sir Link’s brown mare. The hero himself stood by the mare’s side, feeding her an apple from his hand. His lips moved, as if he were speaking to her—but who would talk to a horse?

He heard her approach, and dropped into a neat bow. To Zelda’s amusement, his horse leaned over and nibbled at his hair, making him swat at her nose half-heartedly.

“Sir Link!” she exclaimed. “You’ve already had the horses prepared. _And_ you’re early.”

He nodded, and seemed to sense that she desired a response. “I woke up early,” he said, still a little wooden. “I prefer to tack Epona up myself. And the stable boy seemed to be having trouble with your steed, so…”

He trailed off as Zelda approached Fionn. The stallion rolled his eyes at her, pawing at the soft dirt that surrounded the paddock fence. It seemed that he would allow her to at least adjust the stirrups without trying to bite her, so she quickly got to work before his mood changed.

“You’ve done a wonderful job,” she remarked, stepping out of reach of Fionn’s teeth. “I’m surprised that he even let you saddle him.”

“Apples.”

“Beg pardon?” asked Zelda, baffled. It may have been a trick of the sunrise, but sir Link’s face seemed to redden.

“I meant to say… apples are the key to tacking up a difficult horse. I gave him a couple and he was right as rain.” Link inclined his head demurely. “I hope that was alright, Your Highness.”

“Of course!” said Zelda, looking up at the horse’s shoulder. He did seem steadier than usual; perhaps she would be able to mount him on the first try this time. “Anything that gets him to behave. Are you ready to depart?”

“Aye, Your Highness.”

Zelda rode, wanting to get Fionn settled before they got to the open road, but Link led his mare on foot through the quiet streets of Castle Town. Sundays were the day of rest for most of the town’s merchants and tradespeople, so there weren’t many out and about this early. The fewer prying eyes, Zelda thought, the better. Especially since she couldn’t seem to control her stallion.

While Link’s horse was relaxed, her gait steady, Fionn insisted on side-stepping and coming to sudden, jarring halts whenever she let out even a little slack on the reins. He pumped his neck up and down, his ears pinned. Zelda could feel her temper swelling, and embarrassment burned her ears.

“If you don’t mind my saying so—” Link’s voice was so quiet that she scarcely heard it— “you might try soothing him, Your Highness.”

She looked down at him, confused. Fionn jumped on her moment of distraction, tossing his head and nearly snatching the reins from her hands. She cursed in a rather unladylike way and pulled back on the reins just as Fionn’s front hooves left the cobblestones. Panic fluttered in her chest; was she going to be thrown off?

With one hand still holding the mare’s halter, sir Link reached up and pressed a hand against Fionn’s shoulder.

The horse froze; Zelda could feel how rigid his muscles were under her legs. Link began to rub the stallion’s shoulder in slow, easy circles, speaking to him under his breath. Zelda’s ears strained to hear what it was, but it sounded like nonsense. She hesitantly reached for Fionn’s neck and began to stroke it, mimicking Link’s movements.

“Shh, shh,” she whispered, trying to give off a calming aura. She clucked her tongue, and one of Fionn’s opalescent ears flicked back towards her.

“That’s it,” Link encouraged. “He likes it.”

Gradually, Fionn stilled, his ears unpinned from his neck. Zelda let out a nervous laugh, trying not to move a muscle. “He’s never been so calm! I can’t believe it.”

“Horses feed off your energy,” said sir Link, running a finger along the mare’s nose. She whickered, pushing her face into his arm. “If you’re unsettled, your mount can feel it. Fionn is especially high-strung and willful; he just needs a firm hand and some encouragement when he _is_ behaving.”

Tentatively, Zelda pressed her heels into Fionn’s sides. He began to walk, his steps now even and measured. A thrill went through her; if her steed was steady like this from now on, she might grow to enjoy riding.

“I never knew you were so good with horses,” she remarked. A slight note of guilt accompanied this; after all, she had never asked or paid enough attention to him to know. She cut a furtive glance over at the knight. Once again, she could swear there was a hint of a smile on his face.

They finally emerged from the labyrinth of streets to the main plaza, where an ornate marble fountain occupied the center. It depicted a past queen of Hyrule holding a broadsword; the tip of the stone blade pointed south, towards the gates of Castle Town. Link’s mare noticeably perked up as the rolling green fields came into view. Zelda, for once, felt excited as well: she was eager to test the true limits of Fionn’s speed.

“LIIIIIIIIINK!!!”

Link’s horse started and nearly kicked; Fionn’s newfound calm vanished in an instant, and it was all Zelda could do to hang on. He bucked and skittered towards the fountain, and Zelda yelped as she was misted by the spraying water. The horse danced around in a nervous circle as she desperately hauled back on the reins, and she saw a small, golden-haired girl sprinting towards them.

“Aryll, stop!” Link’s voice rang out through the plaza. The sudden authority from such a quiet individual stunned Zelda, and made the child skid to a halt, panting.

She was in bad shape: her skirt was torn, and one elbow was scraped and bloody. Her colour was high with emotion, eyes accusatory and full of tears.

“You _left_ me!” she cried, tiny hands balled into fists.

Sir Link was in the unfortunate predicament of trying to calm both his horse and the girl; Zelda tried to urge Fionn closer, but he was still turning anxious circles. “I already told you,” he said, so quietly that Zelda scarcely heard him. “I have to go. I said good-bye last night—”

This only brought on a fresh wave of blubbering. To Zelda’s dismay, some of the commoners had begun opening their shutters to see what the commotion was about. At this rate, the girl was going to have the entire town as an audience.

Zelda managed to steer Fionn to the fountain, and stepped down onto the slippery edge. The child had stomped her foot in response to something Link had said, and Zelda caught some of the words as she approached:

“What if you never came back, huh?” the girl demanded, face blotchy with self-righteous anger. “What am I supposed to do if you never came back, and never even woke me up to say ‘bye…”

Zelda placed a hand on sir Link’s shoulder. He turned to look at her, incredulous, and she passed him Fionn’s reins. Then she crouched before the girl so that they were eye-to-eye.

“Hi, Aryll,” she said, trying to conjure the same calm that she had with her horse. “That’s your name, yes?”

The child nodded, but her eyes were full of suspicion. Her dubious eyebrows and straight nose matched sir Link’s exactly; Zelda marvelled at their similarity.

“It’s going to be alright, little one. Dry your tears.” She waited patiently for Aryll to scrub at her cheeks. “I’m sorry for taking your brother away from you so often. But when he comes back, I’m not going to bother him for a whole week. And he’ll spend the entire time with you.”

Aryll’s bottom lip still trembled. “You promise?”

“Promise,” said Zelda and Link simultaneously. She looked back at him in surprise, but his gaze was fixed elsewhere. Aryll already looked better, the angry flush slowly disappearing from her face. She held up her elbow, which still oozed red.

“My arm hurts.” She fixed Zelda with that wide, guileless look only children were capable of. “You’ve got powers or summing, right? You can fix my arm.”

The child didn’t mean anything by it, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. Zelda tried to smile, and took Aryll’s hand in hers. “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that. Run along to your mother, alright? She’ll fix you up.”

“Your Highness…” If the warning note in Link’s voice hadn’t been enough, the way Aryll’s face crumpled would have told Zelda she had made a huge misstep. She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, but was saved by the sudden appearance of a rather plump woman puffing towards them.

“ _Aryll!_ Good grief, don’t you _ever_ run off like that again! I don’t get paid near enough to chase after you—oh! Your Highness!” The woman dropped into a deep curtsy, her face the colour of a ripe tomato. “My sincere apologies for this little one disturbing you—”

“It’s quite alright,” said Zelda quickly. Aryll still clung to her hand, her face set in a rebellious scowl.

“Aryll. Go with Telma, please.”

Aryll, sensing something in his tone, ducked her head and obeyed. Telma dug her fingers into the girl’s shoulders and frog-marched her away, rebukes echoing off the stone houses. Sir Link climbed into the saddle, and did not look back before urging his mare into a canter.

Zelda scrambled to mount Fionn and followed. The stallion seemed to relish the chase; he closed the gap in no time at all, matching Link’s horse stride for stride over the lush grassland. Their speed was exhilarating; Zelda felt like she had grown wings, the wind stealing her breath right from her mouth. Finally, sir Link pulled back on the reins, and his mare slowed to a trot. Zelda brought Fionn to a halt, and felt laughter bubbling up within her. She turned to Link, an excited exclamation on her lips, but it died as soon as she saw his face.

She was used to the lack of expression on his face, but that was nothing like what was there now. There was a hardness about him that sharpened his hawkish features, making them crueler. This was the look of a creature that might bite if it weren’t left alone, and it sent a chill over Zelda’s skin.

He looked away from her again and continued across the field, heading for the main road. The thrill of their horses exploding across the terrain had popped like a soap bubble, to be replaced by a sick, sinking sensation in Zelda’s stomach as she followed her knight to the road, and he fell back behind her.

_What did I say?_ she wondered, stroking Fionn’s neck. _Did I step in where I shouldn’t have?_

She didn’t dare turn back to look at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when we thought they might finally be starting to get along...
> 
> I hope you all are liking the story so far! I've got an outline arranged for the story, and am going to do my best to post at least weekly. Like my other work "The Lost Spring", this is likely gonna shape up to about 8 chapters. Please let me know what you think in the comments, and thanks for the kudos!!


	3. The Secret of Deya Lake

Built entirely on stilts and platforms directly atop the lake it was named for, Deya Village was aptly referred to as the ‘Hylian Zora’s Domain’. The houses and shops spiraled outwards from the massive tree that grew from the lakebed, its thick canopy sheltering the village from the light rain that had begun to drizzle.

The rope-and-plank bridges wobbled precariously under their feet, so Zelda and her knight opted to leave their mounts to graze on the bank of Deya Lake. Although the water here was clear and no more than two metres deep, Zelda’s heart jumped into her mouth as she inched across the bridge, hands white-knuckled on the rope banister. She was not a strong swimmer and could not tolerate water anywhere past her chest; not to mention that the precious Sheikah Slate, kept safely in a pouch belted to her waist, might be damaged if it were soaked.

Sir Link’s black mood had persisted for the better part of the morning and afternoon. Even now it weighed on her, compounding the anxiety over navigating the village. He walked behind her as usual, but his weight swayed the bridge back and forth, throwing off Zelda’s already precarious balance.

She halted for a moment to regain her footing. “Sir Link,” she began, “if you don’t mind, I would prefer if you walked—”

A dull crack, and suddenly the world fell out from under her.

Zelda’s death-grip on the banister barely saved her from an icy plunge; her arm felt as though it were nearly yanked from its socket as she dangled over the lake’s surface. Several pieces of the plank she had been standing on splashed into the water, obscuring the lakebed. Her stomach churned; she waved her left arm frantically, trying to grab hold of something to pull herself up.

A strong hand fastened around her forearm. With a powerful yank that made her shoulder scream again with pain, she was dragged back onto the bridge, her back scraping against the boards.

Shouts from the main platform, arms reaching out for her; before Zelda could try and stand, sir Link had heaved her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and darted gracefully over the bridge. Countless worried faces peered at her as sir Link gently set her down on thankfully solid ground.

“Your Highness! Are you alright?”

A deep, booming voice cut through the concerned chatter. Zelda could hardly believe who the voice belonged to; the tiniest old man she had ever seen limped towards her, the crowd parting respectfully to allow him through.

“Y-yes,” she gasped, suddenly realising she had a handful of sir Link’s tunic. She forced herself to let go, embarrassed.

“You’re bleeding,” said Link quietly. And so she was: the front of her freshly laundered traveling gear was torn and stained red.

“Let me see,” the old man commanded, kneeling beside her. Obediently, Zelda lifted her shirt to expose a deep scrape on her belly. To her surprise, sir Link looked away, the tips of his ears slightly pink. Was he that repulsed by the sight of blood?

“There aren’t any splinters in the wound, thank Hylia,” said the wizened old man at last. Link helped him to his feet, and was about to lift Zelda as well; she waved him away and stood on her own. “I beg your forgiveness, Princess; that bridge was replaced only a few months ago. I have some _very_ harsh words for our craftsmen—”

“Please, it’s alright. There was no harm done, and a little swim in the lake could hardly frighten me,” she lied. “Are you the village elder, by any chance?”

The man bowed gracefully, despite the fragility of his frame. “I am, Your Highness. My name is Rael. Please allow me to offer you a meal.”

Zelda graciously accepted, and followed the elder to his home, which thankfully did not require crossing another bridge. While the other houses consisted of a single storey and thatched grass roofs, Elder Rael’s home was constructed entirely of wood and tile, the point of his rooftop reaching high towards the giant tree’s canopy. They were led into a grandiose anteroom occupied by a large, carved shrine and several pillows, upon which Elder Rael gratefully settled his shrunken body.

“You have a lovely home,” said Zelda politely.

The elder let out a sonorous laugh that echoed from the rafters. “Oh no, this is not my home, Your Highness. This is the new Deya Temple.”

Two young men with shaved heads entered the room at that moment, carrying bowls of steaming ramen. The pair bowed deeply after serving them, padding soundlessly across the floorboards and back into the recesses of the temple. They had to be monks: Zelda recalled seeing others with shorn scalps at the Hyrule Cathedral.

“We are honoured by your visit to our village,” said the elder, after reciting a short blessing over their food. “Are you here on business, or simply for pleasure, Princess?”

Zelda briefly described her quest for the Spring of Courage between bites. The ramen was delicious, with rich, perfectly salted broth. Sir Link seemed to agree; he had finished his bowl within scarcely a few minutes of receiving it.

“Since Deya Lake borders the Faron region, I suspected that the spring that feeds it may be the one I am searching for,” Zelda explained, setting aside her chopsticks. “Have you ever heard of such a place, Elder Rael?”

“Hmm.” The elder stroked his beard, oblivious to the fact that a chunk of pork clung to the edge of his moustache. Zelda quickly averted her eyes elsewhere to avid laughing, and thought that sir Link might also have been hiding a smile. “I’m afraid I don’t actually know where this lake is fed from, Your Highness. However… perhaps the archives in the old temple may be of use to you.”

Zelda sat up straighter, feeling for the pencil stub in her waist pouch. “Really?” she exclaimed. “You would let me enter your archives? I’m honoured.”

Another booming laugh. “It’s good to see a young person with such an appetite for history! Ah, forgive me, Princess. I didn’t mean to patronise you—”

“Not at all.” The elder could have cursed her, and she would turn the other cheek if it meant satisfying her powerful curiousity. “Please, lead the way.”

The old temple, it seemed, was actually _inside_ the colossal tree at the village’s heart. Thankfully, Elder Rael got one of the monks to ferry them to the tree by boat, rather than risk the bridges. As the monk maneuvered around the poles that held the village above the water, Zelda realised that the white platforms ringing the ancient trunk were not man-made; they were actually incredibly thick fungi, large enough to stand on. The boat stopped at the edge of one such platform. Link got out of the boat first, holding out his hand; Zelda accepted it, somewhat shyly. She was still embarrassed by her fall earlier, and wary of the black mood that had plagued him since the incident with his sister.

She found her mind wandering back to that moment as they descended through the damp, murky corridors of the old temple.

_What am I supposed to do if you never come back?!_

Aryll was an orphan, Zelda realised—Aryll and Link both. If she remembered correctly, sir Arn had perished in an unexpected monster attack during a routine visit to Zora’s Domain. No time was wasted in appointing a new personal guard for the king, and Zelda never saw her father mourn him. But then again, he had hardly even mourned the queen’s passing.

 _Does it ever weigh on him?_ she wondered, keeping away from the leaking wooden walls of the temple. Had her father ever given a thought to the children sir Arn left behind? What would happen to Aryll if Link laid down his life for her?

Zelda shivered. The monk turned back to her, concerned. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “It’s just cold down here. And damp.”

The monk chuckled. “There’s a reason we moved the temple. Er… Your Highness. Please excuse my lack of decorum.”

Zelda felt herself deflate a little at the tacked-on honorific. She hadn’t realised before just how desperately she craved being treated like a regular person, without the endless, exhausting formalities. That desire had driven her disguised visit to the Kara Kara Bazaar; the freely-held conversations and jokes she had shared with the merchants were nearly worth the terror of her near-assassination. Perhaps part of her earlier resentment of sir Link had been more about his position as a guard, rather than him being the Hero. With him always a half-step behind her, wearing the blue Champion’s tunic or gaudy uniform of the Royal Guard, she would forever remain unapproachable.

Had her mother ever felt this loneliness? Likely not: she had grown up in the company of Urbosa, the current chief of the Gerudo people. Zelda, however, had never gotten much opportunity to make friends; from the age of six onwards, her training had taken priority over everything else. The weight of her solitude and responsibility pressed down on her, like the lakewater above.

“This is the archive room,” said the monk, gesturing to an iron door at the end of the corridor. This deep beneath the lakebed, the walls were reinforced by stone; Zelda speculated that they were now inside tunnels under the root system of the giant tree. The walls were slimy with moisture, but did not seem to be leaking. Even so, she personally would not have stored precious paper documents in such a perilously damp environment.

The monk waited outside, and Zelda half-expected sir Link to do the same, but he followed her inside, shutting the iron door with a heavy _clang!_ A large table occupied the centre of the room, surrounded by countless shelves of scrolls and tomes. It smelled distinctively of mould and rot, making Zelda wrinkle her nose.

“Where should we start, Your Highness?”

Zelda glanced over with surprise. “You can read ancient Hylian?”

Sir Link frowned for a moment, but quickly flattened his mouth into a straight line. “No. But I believe I can read a map.”

Zelda cringed; she hadn’t meant to patronise him. Apologising might bruise his ego even further, so she simply handed him a few scrolls. “Well, let’s start with these.”

It didn’t take long to find a few maps that would serve their goal, but they were in incredibly poor condition. Even the newest among them, a complete map of Hyrule that could hardly be a decade old, was being eaten away by some strange, soupy fungus that Zelda didn’t dare touch with her bare hands. While sir Link pored over the maps, Zelda perused the decaying books, trying to find any mention of a spring or purification ritual.

Zelda could read with blazing speed, but even after an hour with countless tomes, her efforts proved fruitless. She felt the same frustration boiling up within her that she had during her experiment at the Ancient Columns, but balled her fists and willed it away. She took deep breaths to steady herself, but choked on the rotten air.

Sir Link looked up with alarm, but she waved him away, tears in her eyes. “Have you found anything?” she rasped, joining him at the table.

“Well, I’m not completely sure.” He pointed at the mountain range that bordered the eastern edge of Deya Lake. “If there was a spring feeding the lake, it ought to be here.”

“But it isn’t,” Zelda finished. She squinted at the parchment; the ink had blurred in some places. “Perhaps it isn’t marked?”

“I was thinking that the lake might be fed from somewhere else.” Sir Link moved another map closer, and tapped at a spot just below the mountains. “Perhaps even from underground.”

A long river snaked through the Damiel Forest, and seemed to widen and pool right at the base of the Popla Foothills: directly adjacent to Deya Lake. Zelda gasped and clapped her hands together.

“Sir Link, you’re a genius! That has to be it!” Forgetting herself, she did an impromptu victory dance around the table, only stopping when she saw sir Link’s perplexed stare. She cleared her throat, and stood a little straighter. “Pardon me. It’s just… it feels good to finally have a lead.”

“I understand.” He suddenly blanched, and then added, “Your Highness.”

Zelda’s skin prickled. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Pardon?”

“‘Your Highness’. I would prefer it if you didn’t call me that anymore.”

Sir Link looked baffled. “What else should I call you?”

“Well, you could start with my name.” He stared at her blankly. “That was a joke.”

“Oh. I see.” He shuffled his feet ever so slightly, and that hand twitched up to rub at his neck again. “Whatever you wish… Zelda.”

A sudden rush of warmth went from the crown of her head down to her toes. “Thank you, Link.”

His hand made it all the way up to his neck this time, the tips of his ears turning bright pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I really struggled with this chapter. I'm juggling a lot of themes and things I want to accomplish with this work, and it's hard to know when to address each one. Writing is hard, but the positive enforcement and encouragement I get by seeing readers enjoying my work keeps me going! I hope this chapter satisfies!


	4. The Price of Destiny

Armed with a promising lead on the location of the sacred spring, Zelda and Link set out once again on the road. It was now late afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky and illuminating the Gerudo Highlands in the distance. Zelda still felt a slight shiver when she looked at them, although she knew that they were now several leagues from where the assassins had struck. An eventual return to the desert was going to be a true test of her resilience.

The dusty orange of the mountain range reflected off the waters of Lake Hylia, which were dotted with several sailing boats that passed underneath the ancient stone bridge that they travelled upon. At this hour on a Sunday, the foot and horse traffic on the bridge was reduced, allowing them to take a more leisurely pace.

Link kept close to one side of the bridge, peering at something with such intensity that Zelda became curious. She carefully pressed Fionn over, craning her neck to see what had captured the knight’s attention. There, sticking close to the shore, were two children in a rowboat that rocked perilously. There were angry shouts from a nearby merchant ship, and Zelda laughed as she realised the urchins were throwing stones at passing boats.

Link, however, didn’t seem to share in her amusement. He appeared lost in thought, his eyes never leaving the rowboat. Zelda watched as the girl flung another stone, eliciting more curses from the merchant ship, and realised the girl had her hair in double braids.

“Do you miss her?”

Link started, snapped out of his reverie, and his horse skittered momentarily before he regained control. “Pardon?”

“Your sister,” said Zelda, hoping she would not regret bringing it up. “Do you miss her?”

Link was quiet for a moment, bringing his horse into step beside her and Fionn. “I was just thinking that she might enjoy a boat trip on the lake,” he said carefully. “She’s been obsessed with ships and seafaring for as long as I can remember, but I don’t think she’s ever been out on one.”

Zelda nodded, waiting to see if he would say more. He sucked in his breath, and when he let it out, that formal posture had settled over him once again. “I apologise for my distance and distractedness today, Your Highness. I have been preoccupied with some personal affairs, and that shouldn’t conflict with my duty.”

“Please, it’s just Zelda.” He nodded, but didn’t look at her. She decided to press him a little, desperate to regain that spark of familiarity. “When you say ‘personal affairs’… does that have anything to do with what happened this morning?”

His knuckles tightened on the reins, and a bone moved in his jaw. Zelda suddenly remembered the coldness that had settled over him earlier, and hastily added: “I’m sorry if I overstepped. It wasn’t my place to get involved in a family matter.”

“Actually, you stepping in helped a lot,” said Link. He hesitated before continuing. “I… it’s been hard. With Aryll, I mean. When she caused that huge scene, and everyone was looking…”

Zelda pressed her lips together, forcing herself to be patient and let the words come to him.

“I was angry,” he admitted. “Mostly with myself, but also a little bit with her. We’re a noble family, so she knows how to behave, but she insists on acting out like this. Sometimes I think she lived on the farm for too long.” He laughed helplessly. “I’m sorry, Your—Zelda. I’m not even sure why I’m telling you about this.”

“It’s perfectly alright. May I ask why you were angry with yourself?”

Link let out a deep sigh. He seemed drained, as though every word he spoke took something out of him. “I feel like I should be there for her. She doesn’t have anyone else, and she’s at a difficult age. Ten,” he clarified, seeing the question in Zelda’s eyes. “She’s a little old for a nursemaid, but I can’t exactly leave her alone either.”

Zelda thought back to when she was ten years old. Her mother had been gone for four years by then, and her life since had been a miserable whirlwind of rituals, prayers, and scoldings. She recalled sneaking into the kitchen after nightfall, taking as many rolls and cookies as her little hands could carry. One night she had scored an entire fruitcake, and endured a tongue-lashing from the baker the next day, when he noticed it missing and sticky crumbs all over Zelda’s face. She could certainly attest to acting out.

“Does she have any friends?”

Link shifted uncomfortably. “Not that I know of. She’s nobility, after all, but lives among commoners. She had friends back in Hateno Village, but when my mother passed on and I was posted in the castle… well.”

Zelda looked down at the cobblestones. “I’m sorry for taking you away from Aryll so often.”

“It’s nothing to do with you,” said Link reassuringly, and the kindness in his eyes made her cheeks feel warm. “Even before I was assigned to you, I was to become a castle guard. And then I drew the Master Sword… the trouble here is entirely my own fault for pursuing knighthood.”

That last part sounded slightly bitter. Zelda considered her next words carefully. “Well, to me… it seems like the trouble isn’t with you, either. There was no way you could have known the level of responsibility you would end up taking on. So far as you knew, you would simply have become an exceptional knight, and spend six months on duty for the king before returning home to your family for half a year. You never counted on becoming the Hero, or being assigned a permanent guard position.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He gazed out over the glittering water, even though the rowboat was lost from view now. “I just can’t help but feel like a failure when it comes to Aryll. It’s like… it feels like I’m being pulled in two different directions, and eventually I might just snap.”

“I completely understand,” she said emphatically. _More than you know,_ she thought, gazing at his troubled profile.

They could have stayed in Deya Village for the night, but since there was no stable or proper hitching post for the horses (and because of Zelda’s unease maneuvering the bridges), they had agreed to press on. At twilight, they made camp in a small pocket of trees just outside of the Finra Woods.

Link had a knack for finding strategic camping locations. This spot, he explained, was far more defensible than going into the woods. The shore behind them was far too steep for a feasible assault from the water, and the high cliffs on both sides were difficult enough to scale that it would discourage any attackers. Therefore, the only opening would be from the road. Link set up a simple set of snares and triplines along that opening, made from wire so thin it was nearly invisible. He had never felt the need to do so before; Zelda suspected it had to do with the attempt on her life at the bazaar.

After tying up the horses a safe distance from the makeshift security system, Link began the process of making a fire. Previously, Zelda would sit back and fiddle moodily with the Sheikah Slate while Link did everything, but she had no intention of being a burden any longer. Surely, she could set up a tent, at least. She eyed the canvas bags and nodded, rolling up her sleeves.

By the time Link had a fire roaring and was unpacking the cooking supplies, Zelda was still struggling with the tent poles. She thought she maybe had the front set up—it was supposed to be triangular, surely?—but the moment she let go of the poles, they collapsed onto the ground. She sat back on her heels, fuming.

“You have to put the ends through the holes in the canvas first.”

She jumped—Link had crept up beside her without her even noticing. He pulled the canvas from its pouch and unrolled it, pointing to a small grommet in the corner. Zelda took it from him, and pushed one of the tent poles through. Politely, he flipped the pole so it was the other way round.

“You see that blue marking on the end of the pole? That’s how you know which end goes through the grommet.”

He walked her through it step-by-step, allowing her to try, which she was very grateful for. She preferred to learn hands-on, and before long, she was tapping the pegs into the ground and looking at the tent with satisfaction.

“Might I try the second one myself?”

“Of course,” said Link with a smile. “That one’s yours, after all.”

Zelda watched him meander back to the fire with awe. Was that a joke? She felt like she ought to pinch herself.

Supper was a simple vegetable curry with rice, but so hot that Zelda felt like her tongue was on fire. The secret, apparently, was Goron spice: Link informed her that it was used in far larger quantities on peppercorn rock steak, a special delicacy for the mountain-dwellers.

“Rock steak?” Zelda asked incredulously.

“Yep,” he said, through a mouthful of food. “Surely you’ve seen Daruk eating it, right?”

“Well, I’ve seen him eat rocks… what separates a regular rock from a rock steak?”

“Rock steak tastes better.”

Zelda watched him polish off his serving of curry, and serve himself a third helping. Was there anything this man _wouldn’t_ eat?

A warm meal in her belly and a day of travel made her drowsy, so Zelda opted to retire early. She winced as she peeled off her blood-stained tunic, and looked at it in disdain before tearing it into strips to use as a bandage for the wound on her abdomen. Before going to bed, she opened up the small piece of paper from her diary that she had hidden away, and began to scribble:

  * _Loves his little sister Aryll; interested in seafaring_
  * _Eats rocks???_
  * _A bit of a glutton. Devoured ramen at lunch and had 4 servings of curry!_



Feeling self-conscious, she tucked away the pencil stub and paper under her pillow. Although she was exhausted, and her body still ached from her near-plunge into Deya Lake, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes closed. She kept seeing the sadness in Link’s eyes as he talked about his sister.

_I’m being pulled in two different directions, and eventually I might just snap._

If only he knew how perfectly those words encapsulated her own feelings. Zelda thought back fondly on all the memories she had with Purah and Robbie, following them on their research expeditions between her sessions with Sahasrahla at the cathedral. The day that the first Divine Beast had been unearthed was one of the best days of her life: she had been present to see the soil falling away from Vah Nabooris’ face, and among the first to enter it. Aside from Robbie, Zelda herself likely possessed the most technical knowledge and done more research than anyone. The Sheikah technology was her true passion, but yet every moment that she spent away from the cathedral was considered time wasted.

It was her fate to unlock her power and seal the great evil away, just as it was Link’s to pull the Master Sword and do battle. And yet they both seemed to struggle with the weight of their destinies, asked to sacrifice things dear to them in order to fulfill their divine purposes.

Did their previous incarnations struggle too? she wondered, her eyes finally growing heavy. What did they have to sacrifice in order to secure the future of Hyrule?

“ _Princess_ _._ Are you awake?”

The sound of Link’s voice was like a bucket of cold water; she sat upright immediately, heart pounding. “What is it?” she whispered. “Are we being attacked?”

“Oh, Hylia—no. Sorry to have alarmed you. I, er… just thought you might want to see this.”

Intrigued, Zelda wrapped her cloak around her bare shoulders and crawled out of the tent to a blazing night sky.

It was so bright outside that it seemed like a second sun had risen; she shielded her eyes, peering through her fingers as her vision adjusted. Only about five hundred metres away, breaking through the crystalline waters of Lake Hylia, emerged the gleaming golden head of a dragon.

Zelda felt like her breath had been stolen away. The air around her felt charged, making her hair frizz and lift away from her face. The dragon continued its slow ascent from the water, glowing balls of electricity crackling around it and sizzling on the lake’s surface. Zelda reached for the Sheikah Slate with numb fingers, and managed to take a picture before it fully emerged and began to fly away.

 _Fly_ wasn’t even the right term; it seemed to swim through the air, its snakelike form twisting gracefully towards the other end of the lake. Link glanced over at her, grinning, and she suddenly realised her mouth was hanging open. She pressed her fingers to her lips.

“I’ve never seen something so beautiful,” she said lamely. She also had never seen Link smile like this, for that matter; he seemed genuinely gleeful to have surprised her.

“That’s Farosh, the lightning spirit,” he said, turning to watch it float across the Bridge of Hylia. “I’ve only seen it once before.”

 _Farosh… like Faron?_ Zelda had a near-photographic memory, and she was certain that she had never read about any dragons still living in Hyrule, or being a namesake for an entire region. They had supposedly been wiped out eons ago, even before the creation of the Sheikah technology. Her fingers itched for her pencil stub, but notes could wait: she couldn’t take her eyes off the scene before her.

Link was silhouetted in the glow emanating from Farosh; it brought out the colour of his hair, turning it from straw to gold. He sat cross-legged, watching the lightning spirit with the Master Sword laying flat on his knees. He truly looked like a hero.

Zelda looked down at herself, bathed in golden light, and held out her palms. Would she look like this, she wondered, when she unlocked her power? Would she be able to feel the energy pulsing around her like electricity?

Would she feel the same rush, the sense of completeness, as she did when she lost herself in her research?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus chapter? As a treat? Hell yeah!
> 
> I was on a roll today and finished this one up, and couldn't wait to share it with you all. I really enjoy Link and Zelda's dynamic, and it's a lot of fun to explore just how they ended up befriending one another (seeing as we don't really get to see that development in the memories... we're just told in the diary entries that they 'start to open up'). 
> 
> At first I thought that maybe they were opening up too quickly (it's only been a few days since Zelda's apology), but I also realised that they're both desperate for companionship. They've been bearing immensely heavy burdens their whole lives with nobody to confide in, but they have remarkably similar struggles and understand one another. 
> 
> Alright, enough from me. See you all again on Saturday!


	5. The Temple of Farosh

Dotted with the mossy ruins of a long-dead civilisation, and everything cast in a green glow from the thick foliage, the vast jungle of the Faron region felt like an alien world. Zelda’s new tunic, purchased at the Highland Stable, was soaked: whether it was with sweat or the sheer humidity that seemed to bleed from the air, she didn’t know. The fascination with the new environment had worn off more than an hour ago, and Zelda was already sick to death of it.

Up ahead, his hair plastered to his scalp with dampness, Link slashed away at the hanging vines and smaller plants that stood in their way. It troubled Zelda a little to see the sacred blade used for such a base purpose, but she had not thought to purchase a machete. Even with the foliage cleared, the terrain was uneven and slippery. Zelda was relieved that they had boarded their mounts at the stable, as the poor beasts would undeniably have twisted a leg.

A thin whining by her left ear; she slapped at it ferociously, coming away with a black smear on her glove. The damage had already been done, though. The point of her ear had begun to itch intensely. She let out a frustrated sigh, and Link turned back towards her.

“We’ve covered quite a bit of ground,” he said. “I could use a water break.”

This struck Zelda as a polite way of saying _she_ ought to stop; Link seemed to have endless endurance. She appreciated the gesture, however, and knelt down beside the gently flowing stream to splash water onto her face. To her disgust, it was just as warm as the air around her.

She took a long swig from the water canteen, and noticed Link was watching her. She blushed a little, and he looked away as soon as she met his gaze.

“Aren’t you warm with your gloves and sleeves?”

Zelda glanced down at her arms. She always wore fingerless leather gloves, and had specifically chosen an undershirt that reached her wrists. “I am,” she admitted, searching his face. “Royal women don’t expose their arms in public. And… I wear gloves to cover a birthmark on my hand.”

“I see.” Link’s face was pink, but Zelda chalked it up to the heat. “I only worry about you developing heatstroke. I can’t exactly protect you from that.”

“It’s alright,” said Zelda, getting to her feet. She pulled off the glove from her right hand, and held it up for his inspection. It was a triangular mark, far paler than the rest of her, and with a pearly sheen. She covered it not because she was ashamed, but because the skin was incredibly sensitive.

He frowned, and took a step closer, squinting at the mark. Zelda’s heart leapt, but she kept a controlled expression as he scrutinised her hand.

“It looks… familiar, somehow.” Link shook his head. “I can’t explain it. I feel like I’ve seen this before.”

His gaze met hers, and she too was suddenly struck by a moment of deja-vu. Although she had scarcely glanced his way in the five months they had been acquainted, it felt as if she’d looked into his brilliant blue eyes a thousand times before. Zelda found herself thinking once again of those who came before her, and the fact that she was following in the footsteps of the first Zelda.

_Perhaps I_ have _seen these eyes before,_ she thought.

Another whining by her ear snapped her out of the moment. As she lifted her hand to swat at it, Link’s face went pale. Before she could open her mouth, he threw himself at her, and they plunged into the stream.

A few seconds of confusion went by before Zelda resurfaced, gagging on the silt that covered her tongue. There, still quivering, was an arrow lodged in a tree, right where she had been standing.

A chorus of delighted cackles echoed from the trees opposite them, and another barrage of arrows peppered the riverbank. The archers were terrible shots; the one that nearly killed her must have been a stroke of luck. Link had gotten to his feet, knee-deep in the stream, brandishing the Master Sword. Zelda frantically scanned the treeline, looking for their attackers. Bandits, perhaps? Or—and the thought sent a paralyzing numbness through her body—maybe the Yiga.

A clumsy crashing in the brush behind them; Zelda and Link both whirled just in time to see a huge, red-skinned monster storming towards them, a thick club held in its powerful hands. Link parried the earth-shattering blow, but it sent him flying, and he splashed into the river several metres away. He did not get up.

Trembling, Zelda looked up at her attacker. The monster had a long, boar-like snout, and a single thick horn upon its head: a Moblin. It wore a loincloth, and had draped its stubby neck with several necklaces. More laughter from the trees, and at a bellow from the Moblin, several smaller Bokoblins rushed out at her, their bows held high over their heads. Zelda cried out, holding up her right hand in a useless defense.

In the time it took for her to blink, two of the Bokoblins flailed and fell, their heads sheared clean off their shoulders. Link had recovered, moving so quickly that he was only a blur, and a Bokoblin’s hands parted company with its wrists before it fled squealing into the trees.

The remaining Bokoblins froze in their tracks, their piggish faces terrified. Link had finally halted, brandishing the blade threateningly. The Moblin had taken several steps back, and watched him reproachfully. Nobody, monster or human, dared move a muscle.

“Go on, then!” Zelda shouted. The Moblin flinched, and she clapped her hands at it, like she would a naughty cat. “Get out of here! Shoo!”

To her surprise, the Moblin actually listened. It bared its fangs before grunting out an order, and the surviving monsters skulked back into the jungle. A tense minute passed as they waited for their footsteps to recede, and then Link slowly sank to his knees, the sword hanging at his side.

Zelda splashed over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Link! Are you alright?!”

“That’s my line,” he said drily, wincing at her touch. “I’m fine, really.”

She took her hand away; her fingers were painted crimson. “But you’re bleeding!”

“It’s just a scrape.”

“But that Moblin! You took a direct hit, you _flew—_ ”

“Zelda.”

She stopped, pressing her lips together. He moved his arms carefully, rotating his shoulder to check for dislocation. He smiled at her, and something flopped in her stomach. “I’m really okay. I’ve taken worse hits, honest.”

Her mind’s eye played back the image of the instant decapitation of the Bokoblins; how had he gotten there so quickly?

“I can’t really explain it,” he said, seeing the question before she could vocalise it. “Sometimes when I focus, I can see openings that others can’t.”

“Openings?” Zelda said, her voice going slightly shrill. “You moved so quickly I couldn’t even see you!”

Link shrugged, wincing a little as he sheathed his sword. “It’s as though time slows down for me. It’s just something I’ve always been able to do.”

They gathered their things and continued upstream. Zelda may not have known much about her knight personally, but she was certainly aware of his merits: he was rumoured to be undefeatable. At the age of four, he had been able to disarm adult opponents in the sparring circle. He was knighted by fourteen, and was supposed to become an elite castle guard by sixteen. And then he had been assigned to protect her…

_Why me?_ she wondered, plodding behind Link as he slashed a path through the jungle. _He could have been a war hero were it not for me—or even my father’s personal guard._ Of course, King Rhoam rarely left the castle, while Zelda was constantly on the move. It made sense to give her the best protection the Hyrule military could offer, but Zelda suspected that was more to do with her role in sealing away Ganon rather than fatherly love and concern. She was more of a pawn to the king than a daughter.

_If he really cared, he would have come to see me after the incident with the Yiga,_ she thought bitterly, and kicked at a pebble.

Link must have been speaking to her; he had stopped and was looking at her. She collected herself, trying to not betray her troubled thoughts. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“I was just thinking out loud, really,” said Link, his brow furrowed. “The monsters’ behaviour was… unusual.”

“Well, monster attacks have been on the rise these days.”

“Yeah, but not like this.” Link hacked apart a particularly stubborn shrub before continuing on. “Monsters aren’t smart. You can even hide for long enough, and they forget you’re there and move along.”

Zelda pressed her fingers to her lips, the wheels turning in her mind. “But these ones seemed to be waiting for us. Like an ambush.”

Link nodded grimly. “Not even just the ambush—they were using actual tactics. The archers were meant to distract us while the Moblin came up from behind.”

“And when you were taken out, the rest of them rushed at me.” Zelda frowned. “That seems like an awful lot of effort for two small Hylians. That Moblin could have eaten us both and still been hungry.”

Link shrugged. “Maybe. But it seemed like they were after our supplies. The Moblin knocked me away, and then they came after you—and you were still wearing your rucksack.”

Zelda thought back to the necklaces looped round the Moblin’s neck, and the loincloth it had been wearing. Could the monsters be evolving? And if so… why now?

The jungle had gradually started to thin out, and the stone underfoot felt more solid and flat. Around them, more and more pillars had begun to emerge, and were in better condition than the ones closer to the main road. They were beautiful once, carved in the form of owls, boars, and reptiles—perhaps, Zelda thought, they were dragons. The Dracozu River flowed more freely now, and up ahead were twin stone bridges leading to a plateau lined with more of the strange pillars.

Even more astonishing was what lay at the far end of the plateau: an immense, moss-choked temple made entirely of stone, and shaped unmistakeably like the golden spirit that had emerged from Lake Hylia. Two front claws rested atop massive pillars carved with a peculiar spiral symbol, and its maw served as the entrance. Astonished, Zelda lifted the Sheikah Slate to take a photograph.

Link let out a low whistle that echoed through the abandoned temple. “Is this what we’re looking for?”

_It has to be,_ thought Zelda grimly. _The future of Hyrule depends on it._


	6. The Ritual

“You _lost_ her?” Zelda exclaimed, eyes wide.

“That’s right,” said Link as he ladled himself another bowlful of stew. “We hadn’t even been in Lurelin Village for an hour, and Aryll had managed to slip away.”

Zelda sipped at the broth, transfixed by the story. They had set up camp just inside the temple entrance, where they were able to light a fire before the torrential rain had begun. It spattered the flagstones of the temple courtyard, punctuated by rolling thunder and the crackle of the flames.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, my mum was right upset, and my father was angrier than I’d ever seen him. I was supposed to be watching her… but I’d gotten distracted. There was a sword-eating performer, and before I knew it, I’d let go of her hand and she’d disappeared.”

Zelda could picture it exactly in her mind: a sandy-haired boy mesmerised by the show, his blue eyes enormous with awe, and a devilish little girl ducking away as soon as she got the opportunity. She giggled at the thought.

“How old was she?”

“She’d just turned five. I was eleven, and already a squire. My father was really disappointed—he’d trusted me with swords and caring for his horses, but couldn’t trust me with my little sister.” Link sighed, as though the memory long past still bruised him. “But then, a fisherman told us he’d seen a little girl by the docks. We rushed over there, and she was nowhere to be found. Until…”

“Until what?” Zelda demanded. Link grinned at her eagerness.

“Until we heard a rustling sound from near one of the crates. My mum lifted the lid off a crate of grain, and there was Aryll, all curled up inside and sleeping. She was trying to stow away on one of the boats.”

Zelda laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “My goodness! What a troublemaker, even at that age.”

“She’s been a handful since she was born, practically.” Link gazed out at the downpour, a softness in his eyes. She looked demurely at her empty bowl, not wanting to be caught staring, when he turned his attention back to her. “More stew?”

“No, thank you.” She sighed and got to her feet, shrugging her cloak off her shoulders. “I’m going to start the ritual now.”

“Now? Er, I mean… isn’t it a bit late?” Link quickly amended.

_I can’t exactly put it off any longer,_ thought Zelda moodily. But she smiled for her knight, and set her bowl by her feet. “I’d like to start as soon as possible,” she said, trying not to show her reluctance. “Dinner was delicious. I’m going to get changed now.”

She ducked further into the temple, hiding herself behind one of the hundreds of stone pillars. As she stripped off her boots and breeches, she found herself admiring the intricacy of the carvings: this one showed a pair of birds soaring over a pyramid in the sky, with clouds below it. The dragon, owl, and boar motifs were also prominently featured. She made a mental note to ask Purah and Robbie about them when she returned to the castle.

Fabric rustled as she retrieved her white prayer dress from her rucksack. She held it up, unable to keep back yet another melancholy sigh. The dress was certainly beautiful, and made just for her by the finest seamstress in Gerudo Town. It had been a gift to her from Urbosa for her fifteenth birthday, the only sleeveless garment she was permitted to wear. It closely resembled the one Zelda’s own mother had worn at the Hero’s Festivals, when she took on the role of the Goddess in the re-enaction of Hyrule’s founding. The golden necklace and bracers Zelda wore for her prayers had also belonged to her mother, but like the dress, it brought her no joy to wear them.

King Rhoam had presented her with the jewelry on the same birthday that she had received the dress: the only gift he had given her since she was a child. “These are precious heirlooms,” he had told her, moving her hair back into place after fastening the necklace’s clasp. “These belonged to your mother, and her grandmother before that. May wearing them remind you of your duty as you perform your prayers.”

_Not even as a memento of Mother,_ thought Zelda as she slid the bracers over her hands. _Just another reminder of my failures._

She smoothed out her dress and took a deep, shaky sigh; she was not planning to show tears to her knight again anytime soon. Barefoot, she padded across the flagstones back to the fire, where Link had frozen with his spoon halfway to his lips.

“Is something the matter?”

“What? No. I mean… your dress.” He looked down at the fire—was he blushing? “It’s lovely.”

Zelda picked at the edge of her belt, flustered. “That’s sweet of you,” she said, setting her rucksack down. She retrieved a silver comb from the front pocket, and gently removed the braids from her hair, letting the full length of it tumble around her shoulders. Link’s gaze was still trained firmly on the ground, as though some interesting bug had gotten his attention.

_He really is a strange young man,_ she thought, getting to her feet.

“Did you, er… need me to accompany you?”

“No, thank you. It’s not too far in, and I’d prefer to do this alone.”

He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

The interior of the temple was very dark, but some of the pillars and parts of the floor were inset with luminous stones, allowing her to make her way to the main chamber. The mossy floor was cool against the soles of her feet, and her bare arms prickled with gooseflesh. More of the glowing spots ringed the circular platform she stood upon, which was surrounded with water. And there, up ahead, emerging from the spring, was a Goddess Statue.

Several of these statues were scattered throughout Hyrule. Every village had one for people to worship at, and there was an enormous one within the Cathedral that Zelda usually prayed to. This one, however, was clearly of ancient origin; maybe even as old as the temple itself. Its face was badly eroded, and parts of the carved wings had been broken off. Zelda took a step closer, fascinated, and flinched as her foot encountered the cold water.

She readied herself, squaring her shoulders. “No use putting it off,” she said aloud, and waded into the spring.

Her dress billowed around her as she went, exposing her pale, gooseflesh-pricked legs. She pushed it down, and the fabric clung to her skin, feeling almost slimy. She grimaced, forcing herself to keep going until she finally stood before the Goddess Statue, waist-deep in the water.

Zelda _hated_ being wet; the very idea of falling into Deya Lake had been a nightmare. Perhaps this would be the true test of her devotion and willpower. She clasped her hands together above her breast, and gazed up at the benevolent, time-worn face of Goddess Hylia. She tried to clear her mind of doubts, and took a deep breath before beginning.

“Hylia, Goddess of Hyrule, whose blood flows within me and my foremothers… I offer you my prayers and devotion in exchange for the golden power that is my birthright. Hylia, who became mortal to save your beloved land from scourge and calamity: I beg for your assistance now.”

The words fell easily from her tongue; they were the same ones that Sahasrahla had taught her years ago, and she could say them in her sleep and backwards. She pressed her forehead to her knuckles, ignoring the torments of her damp skirt and mosquito bites, and strained to feel any signs of divine presence.

“Since time immemorial, the purifying and sealing power has been wielded by the descendants of the Goddess’ mortal form,” Zelda continued. “The time has come for the golden power to be wielded once again. Hylia! Open my eyes to the light!”

Her final words echoed throughout the chamber, but she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her heart drummed; would this be the moment? Would she finally open her eyes to an incandescent glow, and feel the power surge through her?

Only the blackness of the empty temple presented itself to her, and the Goddess’ face looked down upon her, lit a dim blue by the luminous stones.

Zelda lowered her hands to her sides, despair threatening to consume her. What was she doing wrong? Were the words too monotone, not genuine enough? She clasped her hands once again, closed her eyes, and repeated the prayer, putting feeling into each syllable.

“Hylia!” she cried, lifting her arms up. “Open my eyes to the light!”

Once again, darkness and cold air greeted her.

Zelda repeated the prayer thirty-seven times. She tried kneeling in the bone-chilling spring, and once laying prostrate on the stone floor. Remembering Sahasrahla’s claim that the first Zelda had somehow purified herself, she submerged herself completely, emerging shivering and with a wet curtain of hair. She prayed while touching the statue, while facing away from it, with her eyes open; her voice began to become hoarse. And yet, the Goddess ignored her efforts.

She was on her knees once again, the stone bottom of the spring bruising her, and clenched her trembling hands together. “Hylia, Goddess of Hyrule, whose blood flows…”

There was a slight noise from behind her, and she flinched, raising her hands defensively. But it was only her knight, looking bleary-eyed and concerned.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” His voice was quiet, but it still echoed off the temple walls.

“What time is it?” she whispered.

“I’m not completely sure. But… the red star just passed the horizon, so it must be past midnight.” He started to take a step towards her, but hung back. “You’ve been here for hours.”

Zelda pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. All this time, and yet once again, she had absolutely nothing to show for it. She gritted her teeth, willing back the burning tears that threatened to emerge.

“I have to stay. I’m so close, I just know it—”

“Pardon me for arguing, but… your skin is blue.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Zelda braced her hands against her thighs, fingers digging into the flesh. “It’s a test, don’t you see? I just have to keep praying! I can’t come back and face him again with failure!”

“Face who?”

She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. There was a splashing behind her, and she turned to see her knight wading into the spring after her. He crouched beside her, and she turned away, unwilling to let him see her so distraught.

“Your boots and trousers are getting soaked,” she mumbled.

“You’re right; they are. So why don’t we both go dry off by the fire for a little while?” She was about to argue, but the warmth in his eyes rendered her speechless. She allowed him to take her arm and guide her out of the spring.

The fire was roaring in no time once Link added more branches, and Zelda’s hair had begun to dry. She knew that she ought to comb it out, or risk nasty tangles come morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Link gently placed her cloak around her shoulders, and she pulled it tighter, staring numbly into the flames.

Sensing that she wasn’t up for conversation, Link busied himself with the stewpot, washing it out and refilling it with springwater. It came to a rolling boil, and he sprinkled some leaves and crushed herbs into it before ladling it into a cup.

“Here,” he said, pressing it into her hands. “This’ll warm you up.”

Zelda took a tentative sip: it was spicy, but offset by a sweetness that spread to coat her tongue. The sudden heat made her shiver, but she quickly began to feel the bone-aching chill leave her. She could feel Link’s gaze on her, but she was too exhausted and defeated to be self-conscious.

“You know… I often feel that people will be disappointed in me.”

Zelda lifted her head. Link was looking into the fire, the light playing strange shadows over his face. He seemed almost expressionless once again, but his eyes betrayed the pain he felt.

“The moment I drew the sword, everything changed for me. People already knew who I was—after all, I was a prodigy in the realm of swordplay, and my father was the king’s personal guard—but I was still _me._ ” He drew the sword from the sheath beside him, laying the flawless steel blade on his knees. “But when I became the Hero, nobody cared about _me_ anymore. It doesn’t matter that I tell bad jokes, or love horses, or cook up a mean curry. People look at me, but they don’t see me. They only see the sword.”

The flames turned his hair and the Master Sword’s blade to a blazing amber. Zelda didn’t dare speak, afraid he might recede back into silence.

“I sometimes think of myself as a blank slate.” He smiled self-consciously. “It’s easier to let others project their ideas of what the Hero should be onto me rather than disappoint everyone. It doesn’t matter what I think or feel, so I don’t bother to express it.”

“It matters to me,” said Zelda softly. He met her gaze then, but she had to look away, her ears burning.

“You’re the exception. You’re the only person since I drew the sword who cared to get to know me.” He stared back at the campfire once more, a gentle smile playing over his lips. “I’ve played the stoic knight for so long that I’d nearly forgotten myself, but thanks to you… I’m beginning to remember.”

Zelda took another sip of the tea. It seemed like there might be something in it to soothe her throat; the hoarse timbre in her voice was nearly gone. “I also feel the weight of expectations,” she admitted, balancing the cup on her palm. “I want to be the princess that the kingdom needs, but I fear that I’m simply unable to. I spend all this time and energy with my prayers, and yet the power eludes me. I also participate in surveys with the Sheikah scientists, and tinker with the ancient technology… that, I feel, is my true calling.”

“You’re practically the expert on the Divine Beasts,” said Link. “Daruk told me as much. He specifically asks for you when there’s technical issues; the other Champions too.”

Zelda blushed at the compliment. “As wonderful as it is to have my efforts on that front appreciated… I’m afraid it is still viewed as only a distraction. I’m not working hard enough on my prayers if I have time for research and tinkering.”

“Pardon my saying so, but that Sahasrahla’s just a bitter old man.” The venom in Link’s tone surprised her; his hand tightened around the handle of the Master Sword. “I wouldn’t listen to a word that coot has to say. He’s blind if he can’t see how hard you’re trying.”

Something surged in Zelda’s chest at his words, but she had to correct him. “I appreciate your kind words, but I’m not speaking of Sahasrahla. It’s… actually my father.”

Link went pale.

“I apologise,” said Zelda hastily. “I didn’t think of the awkward position my complaining would put you in. You serve the king, after all. I won’t say another word against him.”

“It’s alright,” said Link. He lifted the Master Sword, sliding it back into the sheath. He didn’t meet her eyes as he spoke. “As soon as I was assigned to you, _you_ became my first priority. In that sense… I no longer serve King Rhoam. I serve you, Zelda, before anyone else.”

“I don’t want a servant,” she said before thinking better of it. When was she going to cross the line into being too candid? “I think I have enough of those already. What I really want… is a friend.”

There was silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire between them. Was this it? Had she gone too far?

Link lifted his head, and there was a strange look on his face that she couldn’t parse. “I… I’d like that.”

Zelda reached her hand over the campfire, willing it not to tremble. “Friends, then?”

He stared at her for a moment, and then took her hand. “Yeah. Friends.” His face broke into a smile that seemed to light the room. Zelda did not let go until he did, and he gave her fingers an extra squeeze before releasing them.

_Maybe the golden power will feel like this_ , she thought, gazing at her knight as he ladled her another cup of tea.

No, not her knight.

Her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's March 3rd! And that means it's BotW's fourth birthday!
> 
> To celebrate, I decided to release Chapter 6 early. This game has had a huge impact on my life, and I can hardly believe it's been four whole years since I first started the adventure. Chapter 7 is most likely going to be the end of this fic, and release this Saturday. But don't worry-- I've got plenty more ideas for Zelda and Link's adventures, plus another fic already completed (The Lost Spring). I really hope you all enjoy this bonus chapter!


	7. A Home Away From Home

Standing on the street, just outside the front gate of a quaint brick townhouse, Zelda fussed over the parcel in her arms once more before deciding that she could not put it off any longer.

She stepped up to the wooden gate and took a steadying breath, her palms sweaty. She had never visited anyone at their home before, and was unsure of the etiquette. Should she have sent a letter to warn that she was coming? Ah, but it was too late for that now. Perhaps he wouldn’t even be at home.

She opened the gate and strode for the front porch, the grass lawn tickling her feet through her sandals. She rapped smartly on the oak door, and shifted the parcel to her other arm.

_Good afternoon. Is Master Link in today? I would like to speak with him, if I’m not intruding—_

The door unlatched. She drew herself up to her full height, and put on her most winning smile. But to her shock, it was not the plump maidservant who opened the door: it was the man himself.

His face broke into a huge smile, and he held the door open wider. “Zelda! I’m so glad to see you!”

This was not part of the plan; she hadn’t prepared herself to see him just yet. “H-hello!” she stammered, and cringed internally. _I’m the future queen, for Hylia’s sake! I should not be tripping over myself like this._ “I hope it’s alright that I came by like this. I’m afraid that I am unfamiliar with the decorum.”

Link laughed, resting his hand casually on the doorframe. His tunic was sleeveless, and the gesture showed off the lean muscle in his arm. Zelda’s mouth went dry, and she hugged the parcel closer to her body.

“Link? Who’s there? Whatever it is, it wasn’t me, I swear!”

Footsteps thumped down the hallway, and Aryll’s blonde head poked out from underneath Link’s arm. She scowled.

“Go away! You were supposed to leave us alone for a week!”

“ _Aryll!_ ”

Despite her brother’s rebuke, the ferocity on the girl’s face did not abate. Zelda tried to hold back her amusement as she knelt down to Aryll’s level.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to steal Link away. I actually came to give you this.” She held out the paper-wrapped package.

The effect was instantaneous: the stormclouds vanished from Aryll’s countenance as she tore into the parcel. She held her gift at arms-length, eyeing it suspiciously.

“It’s a sextant,” Zelda explained. “You look through the telescope here, and then the measure on the side tells you the distance between a star and the horizon. Sailors use it for navigation.”

Aryll stared at the brass instrument, awestruck. “No way! Can you teach me to use it?”

“Of course. It was a gift to me when I was about your age, and I learned how to use it from a book. I think you’ll be able to put it to better use.”

Aryll squinted up at her. “It’s not new? I thought princesses had lots of money.”

“ _Aryll!_ For the love of Hylia… just say thank you and go play.”

“Thank you!” Clutching her new treasure to her chest, the girl took off at top speed, disappearing down the street. Link rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry. I swear she knows better…”

“It’s quite alright. I’m just happy that she likes it.”

Link held the door open, stepping aside. “Would you like to come in? I can get some tea going.”

Zelda gratefully accepted; it was unseasonably hot for the springtime, and she was thirsty. She slipped off her sandals on the porch and followed Link down the hall and into the kitchen.

She hadn’t been sure of what to expect from a nobleman’s home, but it was a shock compared to Hyrule Castle. While every room in the castle was draped with velvet and gold, Link’s house was simple and airy. Above the sink, where Link was steadily pumping water for the kettle, solid wood shutters were propped open, with a clay flowerpot sitting on the windowsill. The table at which Zelda sat was covered by a linen tablecloth patterned with yellow flowers. Hung above the fireplace was the Master Sword; it appeared to be the only piece of finery in the entire house.

 _Surely, he is wealthy enough to live more extravagantly,_ she thought, watching him hang the kettle over the embers. The home was unembellished and not boastful; a true reflection, she supposed, of the man who lived there.

Link presented her with a beautifully carved tea tray and delicate china cups. She took a tentative sip of the _agari_ , trying not to burn her lips. He sat across from her, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

“Did you make that dress yourself?”

Zelda glanced down at her green shift. To avoid drawing a crowd, she had opted for something more modest than the extravagant gowns she wore to court. “Not this one. I bought it from a tailor in Hateno Village.”

“I thought I recognised the style. It looks good on you.”

She blushed deeply, hoping he would chalk it up to the warmth of the day. He seemed shy as well, quickly getting up and offering her a scone. He watched her nibble at it for a short time before breaking the silence.

“Were they hard on you? When you returned from the spring?”

Zelda looked down into her cup, watching the tealeaves swirl as her father’s words echoed in her mind. _Report to me when you have something other than failure to report._ He had waved her away then, his back still turned, as if she were some irritating messenger. She had left the king’s study with her fists clenched, trying to hold back scalding tears as the librarians’ whispers followed her all the way to her tower.

She put on her best fake smile before meeting Link’s concerned gaze. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle. Sahasrahla speculates that I may have to visit _all_ of the springs before I can awaken my powers. Unfortunately, we don’t know where the Spring of Power is located, and the last spring is atop Mount Lanayru. I’m not yet old enough to set foot on the sacred ground there, according to custom.”

Link opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, the front door banged open and Aryll came running down the hallway.

“Aryll! Your shoes!”

The girl looked down at her muddy boots and shrugged. “Is it supper soon? I’m hungry.”

Zelda glanced out the window; the sun had begun its steady descent towards the horizon. She swallowed the rest of her _agari_ and rose, bowing slightly to her host. “My apologies. I didn’t realise how late it is. I’ll be going now.”

“You could stay,” said Link, a faint note of hopefulness in his voice.

“Oh, I really don’t want to intrude—”

“It’s no intrusion at all! I always make too much, and I’m sure Aryll has a million questions about that thing you gave her. Right, Aryll?”

“Right,” said Aryll, but she gave her brother a very dubious look that Zelda didn’t quite know what to make of.

They ate supper—a garden salad with a half of a hardboiled egg—outside on the porch, to enjoy the warm evening air. Zelda finished her meal last, as she spent most of it explaining the basics of using the sextant to Aryll. The girl was unusually still, absorbing every word with wide eyes.

Once the dishes were washed, Zelda and Link entertained Aryll with stories of their travels through Hyrule, thankfully glossing over Zelda’s unsavoury outbursts of anger. Aryll seemed most enthralled by the stories of Rito Village, as she had never laid eyes on one of the bird-people before.

“Is it true that they fly?”

“It certainly is. Their bones are hollow, which makes them lighter. However, most Rito can’t take off easily from the ground, and have to jump from a high cliff.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” Aryll remarked. Lightning bugs had begun to emerge from the warm night air, and she had a few of them trapped inside a glass jar. “What’s the point of flying if you have to climb up real high first?”

“Champion Revali doesn’t. He’s managed to create an updraft by flapping his wings, and then can ride it upwards. I’ve seen it.”

Aryll’s eyes were enormous with awe. “That’s so cool! D’you think he’d let me ride on his back?”

Link grimaced. “I don’t think so.”

Zelda stifled a laugh as Link got to his feet, his dislike of the Rito still written all over his face.

“Come on, Aryll. It’s past time for you to go to sleep.”

The girl whined and protested, but eventually gave in after a stern look from her brother. To Zelda’s surprise, Aryll threw her arms around her neck, nuzzling her blonde head into her shoulder.

“G’night, Princess Zelda! Come again soon, okay?” She thundered up the porch steps and into the house, followed by Link. Flustered, Zelda reached a hand up to her shoulder. She hadn’t been hugged like that since… well. It had been a very long time. Even Urbosa had not embraced her since she was about Aryll’s age.

She quickly scrubbed away an unexpected tear as Link came back outside. The moon had risen, and had turned his hair the same colour as a silver coin. He had put on a wool cardigan, and had brought a cloak for her to protect against the sudden evening chill.

“I thought I might walk you back to the castle.”

“Will Aryll be alright by herself?”

“Oh, sure. She was out as soon as her head hit the pillow.” He grinned, and wrapped the cloak around Zelda’s shoulders. “After all, I wouldn’t be much of a protector if I let you walk home alone in the dark.”

It was later than she had thought; at this hour, even the night market had begun to shut down. The colourful paper lanterns that adorned the vendors’ carts were going out on by one, leaving the brick roadway illuminated solely by the blue glow of the streetlamps. The streetlights were an everyday use of Sheikah technology; they burned with the same cerulean flames as the Ancient Furnaces in Hateno Village, Deep Akkala, and at the Royal Laboratory. _Ironic,_ she thought, matching her steps with Link’s, _that we continued to use the Sheikah’s invention, even though we bade them abandon it._

It was a short walk from Link’s house to the castle; they entered through the eastern gates, which were closest to Zelda’s tower. They stopped a distance away from the entrance to the tower, eager to avoid the confused looks of the guards posted there.

Link smiled awkwardly, that hand drifting up to the back of his neck yet again. Zelda had a sudden, wild urge to throw her arms around him as Aryll had, but kept herself composed.

“I… I would like you to know how much it meant to me that you invited me into your home,” she said, hyper-aware of the eyes on her. “I’ve never stayed at one’s home for a meal before, and… I’m very touched.”

She willed Link to feel the weight of the emotion behind her formal words, and it seemed as though he did. He bowed deeply, and took her hand in his.

“Of course, Your Highness.” His eyes flicked upwards, making Zelda’s heart jump. “I would love it for you to come back soon,” he whispered, before releasing her hand. Zelda dismissed him before heading for her tower, feeling so giddy that she hardly noticed the guards’ pointed glances to one another.

As she combed out her hair and got ready for bed, Zelda found herself humming: it was the same tune that Link had whistled when he had left her study, all those weeks ago. Did the song have words? She resolved to ask him the next time they were together.

She nestled into her four-poster bed, staring up at the canopy with a smile. _Next time._ The days and weeks ahead stretched out before her, but no longer did they fill her with dread and anxiety. For the first time, Zelda looked to the future and felt hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay with the final chapter- it was one of those times where I read it over and thought "No, that's not how it should end." I wanted to be absolutely sure that the ending was exactly how it ought to be, and I hope you all agree that it is!
> 
> A huge thanks to everyone who has left me comments and kudos- without you all cheering me on, this story most likely wouldn't exist. More content is going to come soon, I promise. I have at least three different ideas floating around, and the next one is probably going to be from our stoic knight's point of view.
> 
> Speaking of which... would anyone be interested in a bonus chapter from Link's point of view? This story started out from his perspective, but I changed it early on. There's something to be said for keeping his side a mystery, but I'd absolutely be willing to post it if there are folks wanting to read it.
> 
> Thank you all so much, and I'll be posting again soon!


	8. Bonus Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interestingly enough, I actually started this fic with the intention of having it from Link's point of view all along. Eventually though, I got tired of it-- Link was being far too moody and sullen for me to actually get anywhere and have the story feel exciting. I managed to do more with it by having Zelda be the eyes and ears of the story, but thought you all might be interested in reading Link's perspective anyway.
> 
> So here we go! I hope you enjoy and please follow me if you haven't already-- I'll be uploading a new fic very soon!

As Link made his way towards the western tower, the knot of dread in his stomach tightened. 

The Royal Guards posted at the entrance gave him a quizzical look as he approached. Link recognised one of them—sir Stephen had trained with his father, Arn, and used to frequent his family’s dinner table. But since Arn had passed on… Link couldn’t remember the last time he and his sister had a guest.

“Sir Link!” The younger one, whom Link didn’t know, quickly saluted him. “We didn’t expect you.”

_Well,_ Link thought wryly, _at least I’m not the only one the princess doesn’t keep in the loop._

Link saluted back, careful to keep his face neutral. “The princess has summoned me to her study.”

The peculiarity of this was not lost on the guards. Certainly, Link had not expected a summons—he had been eating supper with Aryll when the messenger had arrived at his house. Link had been under the impression that Princess Zelda had no desire to be in his presence more than was strictly necessary… and even when it _was_ necessary, she still made every effort to escape him.

The guard stepped aside to admit him, and Link began to climb the dizzying spiral staircase that led to the princess’ study.

He and Princess Zelda had only just returned early that morning from their expedition out to the Gerudo Desert. She had immediately left for her tower, leaving her stallion with Link to be taken to the stables and fed. He had resented this—he was her personal guard, not her squire—but tried to remind himself of the traumatic incident she had just been through the day before.

It was hardly the first attempt on her life, but certainly the closest shave. Once again, the princess had given him the slip, using the ancient law of Gerudo Town that forbade males from entering as an excuse to evade him. From there, however, she disguised herself and made a solo journey to the Kara Kara Bazaar.

The disguise may have worked on Link, who had been scanning the crowds bustling out of the town’s walls for her distinctive blonde hair, but it hadn’t on her would-be assassins. Link had just managed to intercept them in time—one of them was raising their sickle to deliver the killing blow. As much as Link disliked her, and despite the fact that she never would have been in that position if she had allowed him to accompany her, the terrified and resigned look on her face had shaken him deeply.

Link had reached the heavy oak door at the top of the tower. He took a deep breath, forcing the anxiety coiling in his gut down, and knocked at the door. It opened almost immediately.

There was the princess, still wearing the same dusty clothes she had traveled in. Link was struck by how exhausted she seemed—dark circles ringed her eyes, and the braids she wore in her hair were frizzed and coming loose. He was careful, as always, to stay expressionless.

“Sir Link. Please, come in.”

This was new. He kept his surprise to himself and entered, taking in the organised chaos that filled the tiny space. A desk in the corner was covered in hand-drawn diagrams and hastily jotted notes that spilled onto the floor, as well as several parts that looked like they might come from Guardians. Countless shelves of books lined the walls, and there were a few jars of organic materials suspended in a floating liquid that made Link’s stomach turn.

“You do not have your sword with you.”

Link wasn’t sure whether it was a question, so he resorted to his usual silence. Was this yet another rebuke?

“Would you like to sit, sir Link?” She gestured to the chair at her desk.

“I can stand, Your Highness,” said Link stiffly. “But thank you.”

“Very well. I think I shall sit down, however.” She collapsed into the chair, and folded her hands in her lap. “The reason I have summoned you here is twofold. The day after next, I shall require an escort to the Faron region.”

Link nodded. He didn’t ask for an explanation, but the princess provided one anyway: “The priests have recently translated an incredibly old text that mentions the original incarnation of Hylia: the first Zelda. It indicates that she traveled to three springs in order to purify herself and access her power. I believe that the Spring of Courage may be located within Faron.”

The whole idea sounded far-fetched to Link. If the princess had so far been unable to access her power, why would standing in some pools of water do anything to help? Of course he kept this to himself, and merely nodded once again.

“The second reason I have summoned you—” her fingers were rapidly twisting and untwisting the hem of her tunic— “is because I owe you an apology.”

Link’s eyebrows shot up before he could catch himself. Had she noticed? No: her eyes were trained firmly on the toes of her boots, which scuffed at the floor. It was an oddly childlike gesture, reminding him suddenly of Aryll when she was caught in a lie.

“There is no excuse for the way I have treated you. I have behaved childishly, and unfairly unleashed my personal struggles and anger onto you when you have done nothing but perform the task assigned to you.”

The words seemed to be almost tumbling out, and he was astonished to see that her eyes were watery.

“I understand that mere words cannot make up for my behaviour, but I… I hope that you know they are genuine. I will not presume to ask for your forgiveness.” She bowed her golden head again, shoulders hunched. “I know how burdensome your role as my protector is. You never asked for this inglorious assignment, and I have only made it difficult for you. I am deeply sorry, sir Link.”

She fell silent. The only noise for a moment was the distant dinner bell from the mess hall, and the scuffing of her toes on the stone floor.

Link was speechless, and not as he normally was in her presence. Her remorse and the intimacy of allowing him into her study had left him floundering for words. She wasn’t expecting forgiveness, but surely he ought to say something.

“I…” He nearly lost his nerve as the princess glanced up at him, but then ploughed forward. “Your Highness, being a personal guard to a member of the royal family is hardly inglorious. I am honoured to take on that role, as my father was.”

Princess Zelda nodded, and her gaze shifted to the rapidly darkening sky outside the window. “I had forgotten that sir Arn was your father. I see it now—the two of you are very similar in appearance and demeanor.”

_Demeanor?_ He could wonder about that later. Right now, he had to focus on not mucking up their first real conversation. “You certainly don’t owe me anything at all, Your Highness. I am here to serve—”

“No,” she said firmly, holding up a hand. “I certainly owe you an apology, as well as my life, sir Link. That day at the ancient columns… I was frustrated that my experiments with gaining access to the shrine were fruitless. I allowed myself to take out my anger on you, and it will not happen again.”

“We all can lose our tempers sometimes, your Highness.”

A ghost of a smile played at her lips. “I inherited my temper from my mother.” She looked at her hand, where the faintest shape of a triangular scar marred the back of it. Link wondered what sort of injury had made it. “I often fear it may be all I have inherited from her.”

The dinner bell rang again, and Princess Zelda suddenly snapped back to attention, turning away from the window. “Past dinner already! I have kept you too long, sir Link.”

“Not at all, your Highness,” said Link, although she had. His stomach was grumbling, and Aryll had surely finished without him. Hopefully she’d left him some food… although she was only a small girl of ten, she ate twice as much as a grown man.

The princess inclined her head. Already she was reverting back to the poised persona he was familiar with, although it felt less imposing now. “Thank you for your time. You are dismissed, sir Link. Please remember to meet me at the stables by morning, the day after next.”

Link bowed respectfully, and quickly made his escape, brushing by the guards on his way out. His ears burned and his heart was beating fast, although he couldn’t put his finger on why. He was often shy around women, but this surely was different. She was the future Queen of Hyrule, after all. Perhaps he was intimidated by her.

No… he had been able to take her bouts of anger in stride. Somehow, her vulnerability unsettled him far more. It was easy, he mused as he took the familiar path back to his home, to forget that the Princess was merely a sixteen-year-old girl.

Link eased open the front door, careful to keep it from creaking in case Aryll was asleep. She was: sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace, her blonde hair coming loose from its twin ponytails and her mouth open. He looked down at her fondly, and took his cloak off its hook, laying it over her like a blanket. She was getting too big for him to easily carry—she’d have to get into bed herself, or suffer a sore back in the morning. Link crept into the tiny kitchen, tearing a chunk from the loaf of bread on the table and dipping it directly into the stewpot to mop up the dregs his sister had left behind.

Hanging above the fireplace in its gold-and-blue scabbard was the Master Sword. Link still felt uncomfortable looking at it, never mind carrying it around. Oftentimes as he strapped it to his back, he found himself thinking _Why me?_ Perhaps it was childish, but he hadn’t even given much thought to the idea that he would have to do battle with a primordial force of evil—his primary concern was how the sword changed the way others looked at him, and how to live up to their expectations.

As soon as he’d pulled that sword from the pedestal, everything that made up his identity had vanished. Link was no longer ‘Arn’s boy’ to the older knights, or ‘the kid’ to the other squires. Nobody cared anymore that he loved to cook or crack bad jokes; they just wanted a blank slate on which to project their ideals of what a hero should be.

His conversation with Urbosa drifted to the forefront of his mind. The Princess had been asleep, her head propped up on the Gerudo chieftain’s shoulder, when Link finally made it aboard the Divine Beast. He was sweaty and frustrated after hours of trying to track her down, and annoyed with himself for letting her slip away again.

“Spill it, boy,” Urbosa had said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Have the two of you been getting along all right?”

Link had clamped his mouth shut, unwilling to lie to the formidable woman, but not daring to tell the truth. Urbosa laughed softly, turning her gaze back to the sleeping girl beside her.

“It’s okay. I know. Your silence speaks volumes.” She had sighed then, her jewelry tinkling. “She gets frustrated every time she sees that sword on your back. It makes her feel like a failure when it comes to her own destiny.”

Link considered this once again as he stared at the sword, his handful of bread momentarily forgotten. The stares and murmurs that constantly plagued him were bad enough, but he began to wonder what it would be like to have them be stares of disdain, rather than awe.

_I inherited my temper from my mother. I often fear it may be all I have inherited from her._

He felt a wave of shame go through him, making his face go hot. How could he have been so blind to her self-doubt and insecurity? Link recalled several times where he had seen the princess trudging back from the cathedral, enduring the shaking heads and clucking tongues from the commoners she passed.

Link’s stomach rumbled, and he suddenly remembered the bread in his hand. He scarfed it down, along with the rest of the bread, and put the stewpot next to the water spout for Telma, their maid, to wash in the morning. He stepped carefully over Aryll’s snoring form and made his way into his bedroom, where he stripped off his boots and socks.

He laid awake for some time, preoccupied with his stomach’s dissatisfaction with a meagre supper. The image of Princess Zelda scuffing her toes on the floor, head bowed in guilt and shame, played itself again and again in his mind’s eye.

Perhaps they weren’t really so different.


End file.
